


980 sq ft in tokyo

by roserade



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Living Together, POV Second Person, brief mention of nicopana??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roserade/pseuds/roserade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You move in together, at the start of your second year in college.<br/><br/>(or, Rin, Maki, and adventures in domesticity.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	980 sq ft in tokyo

**1.**  

You move in together, at the start of your second year in college.

Maki’s studying to be a doctor—“ _a neurologist_ ,” she corrects you— at one of the top medical schools in the country, and you end up attending some other university in the city, nothing as grandiose as hers but more than good enough for you. It’s a coincidence that they’re within a reasonable travelling distance between each other, and your parents think it’s a great opportunity for you to learn some independence.

It takes you a total of a week and a half to finally unpack the last of the boxes (and Maki’s already done with hers), but she laughs and kisses you anyway, when you put the finishing touch of a tacky cat-shaped alarm clock on the shelf, a present from two birthdays ago and still in mint condition. It’s the both of yours now, the apartment, well not really, since Maki’s parents own the place, but it already long feels like home.

 

(You’ve both talked about long-distance, but this works too.)

 

**2.**

It’s funny, that even after having known her for so long, she still gets flustered occasionally when you peck her on the cheek or hold hands in public. “ _Rin, no—not now—_ ” She’d protest, even if you’ve both ducked into the corner along the third street before the nearby mall after a movie date, just to give her a quick nuzzle because _wow-she’s-really-cute-Maki-is-so-cute_ buzzes through your head when you catch her smiling at a small dog that had passed by. She doesn’t try to push you away though, pressing the lightest of kisses to the side of your cheek, the tip of your nose, the corner of your lips—“Come on, let’s go home,” and your heart skips like your steps on the street as she takes her turn to pull _you_ along.

 

 

**3.**

There are some mornings when you wake up in each other’s arms, the blanket strewn across the bed and half-kicked to the floor, because summer’s too hot and the air-con doesn’t work as well as it should. It won’t be getting fixed till next Tuesday, not that it affects your sleeping decisions in any way.

“You have your own room, why’d you want to sleep here—” she grumbles, half-heartedly shoving a pillow in your face when you lean in too close.

“Because,” you say, like it is the most obvious thing in the world, “Maki-chan’s more comfortable to cuddle with!”

She huffs, and you find yourself giggling, breaking into laughter when she feigns nonchalance and lightly chops you on the head. Of course you do, when her cheeks are still stained pink and her eyes crinkle in the corners, her lips twitching upwards despite her best efforts—you think of kissing her, again—and you end up scooting closer till the two of you are nose-to-nose and your foreheads clumsily bump together.

“ _Maki-chan_ ,” her name slipping from your mouth as easily as you breathe, the “ _I love you_ ” that comes next splayed out in a warm exhale like your fingers that wind up on the small of her back, the fabric of her shirt bunching up in between creases ever-so-slightly. You don’t kiss her, rather, it’s an _almost_ , a pause that teases its way through the seconds and millimetres that hang apart. Maki shifts, a noise at the back of her throat, her hair mussed up and sticking to her neck; the bed sheets rustling against the familiar hum of the electric fan, her foot gently pressing against your ankle, and you just stay there, with her, letting the lazy warmth of late July seep through your bones and under your skin.

 

You both don't get up till half-past-noon, and by then it's already too late for brunch anyway.

 

 

 **4.**  

It’s not that Maki’s a bad cook (though you’re not much better than her yourself), but there’s only so much cup ramen the both of you can take before Kayo-chin threatens to stage an intervention at your house, because “having this much sodium intake for lunch and dinner almost every day is in no way healthy for you, Rin-chan”.

It’s odd, only seeing her a few times a week, rather than nearly _all the time_ like you used to. Kayo-chin’s busy, _busybusybusy_ , it seems like everyone is, nowadays, but it’s great that the both of you make the time to catch up. You can’t imagine what it’d be like to not have her around at all.

“How’s Maki-chan?” she asks you, over pastel-coloured tea sets on Saturday, the crumbs of your biscuit dropping noiselessly onto your plate. You take another bite, chewing on the question.

“She’s fine!” you say, your voice muffled through a mouthful of oatmeal and raisins, “Maki-chan’s doing great! She’s got an exam this Thursday though, that’s why she couldn’t join us,” you quickly explain, before adding, “She really wanted to come though, nya.”

“Ah, it’s okay!” is all she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looks bolder, more confident, sitting taller with relaxed shoulders. You wonder what she’s been up to, halfway across Tokyo and away from you. Nico’s with her now, sometimes they send you pictures of their latest arcade adventures and you tease her about fending off the other fans of her number one favourite idol. 

Later on, you ask Maki if she’s done with studying, and if she can make it for next week. It’s been a while since the three of you hung out together.

 

 

 **5.**  

“Ah, I have training today,” you’d sometimes tell her on weekends, “I’ll be back for lunch though!”

You’re up early today, earlier than usual, and Maki blearily sits up in bed.

“Y-Yeah, sure, just—” She stifles a yawn. “Um. Lunch?”

“Mm! Lunch!”

She blinks, nods, before running a hand over her face. “I’ll, um, make a note of it, the lunch. Ah.” She scrunches up her face in an effort to stay awake, the sunlight streaming through from behind the curtains glinting over messy strands of red. “Sorry, I’m not really—”

“That’s okay! I know Maki-chan’s been studying really hard lately,” you say, pausing to pull on your jersey before leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead, “Just remember take care of yourself! Rin doesn’t know what to do if Maki-chan falls ill, you know.”

She blows a puff of air against your chin.

“You’re dumb,” she says. A half-lidded smile plays along the edges of her lips and she tilts her head over to check the clock on the shelf, “You’re going to be late, at this rate."

“Hm? Don’t worry, I’ve still got an hour or so,” you say, and her arms wrap around your waist for a quick hug, “That’s more than enough time to have breakfast!”

“Rin.”

You laugh, because as much as she’s insisting on you leaving, she’s not really letting you go, leaning her weight against you even as you try to disentangle yourself from her arms, socked feet skidding the floor when she pulls you down and you lose your balance.

“Maki-chan—”

You don’t put too much thought into it though; it’s _Maki-chan_ , and maybe lots of things can wait, as she holds you close and buries her face in your shoulder.

 

 

 **6.**  

“So this is what Maki-chan does in the hospital, huh?” you say, resting your chin on top of her head. It’s Friday, and the television is playing one of those eight-o’-clock medical dramas, complete with purposeful striding in slabs of white lab coats and over-the-top acting. You can’t really make out the plot, a confusing jumble of crying patients and feuding in-laws that glazes over you in the first ten minutes, but Maki seems to enjoy it though, watching intently from the very beginning and not moving since.

“It’s completely inaccurate,” she mumbles, as she leans her back against you, shifting to a more comfortable position, “That’s really not how you handle an emergency operation.”

You wrap your arms around her, feeling a rush of comfort, of quiet content. It’s the sort of feeling that gently nudges you about in the morning when you wake up and settles in at night before you go to sleep, an idle thought that plays itself in harmonies of thirds like when she sings over breakfast counters with you; not really thinking but a wordless rhythm that slows down softly in napkins handed over lunch and soaked cutleries after dinner, all easy on curled toes and ends. It’s simple in hugs and kisses and cuddles after supper, routine that doesn’t impose but lets go instead, drifting through dotted moments of _being_ together, flitting and intertwining and just _there_. You wonder what that means, when the threads of warmth don’t even catch you by surprise anymore.

Her hair tickles your nose. It smells of lavenders and strawberries. And in that moment you’ve never felt more in love.

 

 

  **7.**

She actually surprises you on your birthday with those curtains that you had insisted on all those months ago. They hang in the doorway between the hall and the kitchen, bright yellow cat-prints just the way you like it, definitely not bordering on “ _garish sensibilities_ ” or “ _clashing colour schemes_ ”.

Maki fidgets, a hand reaching up to tug on her hair, an old habit that hasn’t waned in the years since high school.

“You don’t like it?”

“What? No, no I don’t—no, it’s—” You’re fumbling over your words, all caught-up in your throat that probably leaves you somewhat like her, flustered and awfully unsure. Unlike her, there’s a stream of incoherent fillers that babble out of your mouth, the “um”s and “ah”s and “ _Maki-chan, I—_ ”s stretching out and crashing to a stop of:

“I love it! I love you.” And even you’re surprised by your own spontaneity, your hands flailing and wringing by the side, because as much as you’ve said it before, the “ _I love you_ ” is a given, it doesn’t actually _say_ anything. Or at least anything else that you’d want to say, because _what_ can you say? Your brain picks away at the obvious, unformed words that stick to the side of your tongue, so new and unlike you, where everything’s supposed to come with ease and simplicity and not—

“Ah.”

Maki smiles, it’s generous and warm and _oh-right-it’s-_ Maki-chan, so, so—

You hesitantly reach out, fingers gently curling around her wrists; your heartbeat bubbles, you feel hers strumming just below your thumb, and now you’re standing almost toe-to-toe in the middle of the hallway, aware of the big grin spreading across your face like sunshine’s warmth unfurling in the peaks of autumn.

Maki leans in close, and presses her lips against yours.

The kiss is slow and indulgent, everything catching in small breaths and staying there. You close your eyes and kiss her back, a soft murmur at the back of your throat and feeling her hands shift to your waist, pulling you near. Your fingers brush the side of her cheek, and it’s the familiar, unthinking sensation of _kissing_ —of _kissing her_ , that leaves you with nothing but a languid pleasant thrill that shivers down your back, in clumsy steps the other way till you bump against the edge of the dining table.

“Birthday kiss?” you ask, slightly breathless after. It’s surprising and wonderful and maybe you’ve been caught off guard more than once today, but Maki doesn’t actually really pull away from you, her body still pressing close to yours.

“Y-yeah, um—” she stammers out, her face already reddening, and huffs. Her grip tightens on your shirt and you giggle, pressing the smallest of kisses against the warm crook of her neck as she whispers,

“H-happy birthday, Rin.”

 

 

 **8.**  

The days leading up to your first Christmas together are wild rush. You worry about getting her a present—even now, maybe bright neon sweaters are a bit much? But it’s too late to think about that, because there really is no time for anything else other than the masses of decorations that she’s insisted on putting up in the house.

“Maki-chan, is something wrong?”

Maki frowns; the consternation on her face would look worrying, if not for the bundles of colourful festive-themed woollen stockings in each of her hands. She's saying something, her face turning pink, inaudible over the smooth harmonies of ‘Jingle Bells’ playing softly over the speakers.

“Sorry, what? Maki-chan, I didn’t catch that,” you say, treading over the half-assembled Christmas tree with its plastic pine needles scattered all over the floor. You’ll have to clean it up later, but maybe not right now. Maki brings up the stockings to cover her face, her hair cascading and sticking to the wool.

“We don’t have a chimney,” she mumbles. “Santa... Santa might not even be able to fit through the window.”

She looks up at you, with genuine worry in her eyes.

Oh. So that’s what it is.

“Maki-chan,” you begin, placing your hands firmly on her shoulders, “You know that Santa’s not—”

“I know Santa’s not, he’s not—” she sucks in a breath, “I just, it doesn’t feel right. Not having it.”

She frowns again, “D-don’t laugh! Rin!” and pinches your cheeks when your shoulders start to shake and breath trembles with laughter.

“Ah, I’m sorry, ow, Maki-chan!” you manage out in between wheezes, and when you finally regain your composure, “We will, we’ll figure something out! Maybe write a note out for Santa. Or get bigger windows fitted before Christmas! It’s totally possible. ”

It’s a compromise. Somewhat. Sort of. You’re not really sure? But Maki seems to be happy with it, humming contently under her breath as she pecks you on the cheek with a soft “ _thanks_ ”.  

 

 

 **9.**  

New Year’s passes by in a daze, mostly because you’re down with a cold after the snowball fight from last week. Which was totally worth it, no matter what Maki says.

“ _No it’s not,_ ” she insists, setting the thermos aside next to your pillow. “School’s starting soon, you need to take care of yourself! I can’t stay at home next to you all the time, you know.”

“Aw, Maki-chan, you don’t ha—have to!” The coughing fit pricks at your throat, and you try to brush that aside, “I’m doing fine!”

“Rin.”

Her hand brushes the back of your head, and you settle for a low whine instead, curling up deeper into the blanket. Your head hurts, the room’s too stuffy and it’s hard to breathe through a clogged-up nose. But she didn’t have to remind of _school_.

“I’m heading out now,” she was saying, “So don’t, don’t _do_ anything okay?” You can only imagine what she looks like right now, brow creased with worry as you hack up another round of coughs. She pets your head, briefly.

“I’ll come back with ramen for dinner,” Maki adds, “If that helps.” Her hand grips yours in a tight squeeze and stays there, longer than you thought it would. You’re feeling much better already. Almost.

 

It takes you another four days before you actually recover. But by the time you do, Maki’s fallen sick as well, though she doesn’t really blame you for it, as much as she says.

You make it up to her with tomato soup (recipe learnt from and taught by her mother and personal chef, you're very proud of that) for the whole of next week.

 

 

 **10.**  

It’s been a year. Well, one year, two months and seventeen days. She tells you this after breakfast, a silent mortification over _not_ doing something about the date two months and seventeen days ago.

“Maki-chan, we don’t actually _have_ to,” you say, flicking away soap suds that stick to your wrist. “It’s not really something I’d remember, nya.”

“Well, I want to, and it’s important,” she replies, lips pursed in annoyance. “I thought I’d remember! I didn’t. It’s awful.”

She takes the soaped dish from your hands.

“We can go out for dinner later, after I get back from helping Mama out at the hospital.”

The water from the tap gushes and pounds against the stainless steel of the kitchen sink. You quickly turn to close it, once she’s put the last plate back on the rack.

“Okay,” you say, “Sounds great!”

And it is, it really is great. The thought hums readily at the back of your mind as she plants kisses along your shoulder; it’s warm and comfortable and everything you love about her, about being with her, that leaves you feeling not a rush of anything, but in slowed down beats that make you smile and laugh—together, steady breaths and held hands.  

It’s an easy love.

You can’t think of anything else better than this.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> rinmaki is my fave!! everyone pls love rinmaki


End file.
